Page:Pictures In Rhyme.djvu/39

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19



THE POET'S PROPHECY

He walked through the midst of the crowd

A mark for each scornful eye,
But lifted his gaze to a golden cloud
At anchorage in the sky,
And smiled, as he murmured, half-aloud:
'I shall live when all these die.


'That fair dame's beauty shall fade—
Food for worms to batten upon;
Yon warrior's laurels within the shade
Grow withered, sere, and brown;
The price of that prelate's pride be paid
With an effigy in stone.'


The golden cloud sailed into the West,

Where the sun in blood sank down;